


infirm soul

by demios



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Missing Scene, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, estinien gets vibe checked, mentions of estinien/aymeric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21516448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/pseuds/demios
Summary: The Azure Dragoon meets the Azure Dragon.
Kudos: 51





	infirm soul

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this Tales from the Shadows entry!](https://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/special/tales_from_the_shadows/sidestory_02/)

“I wish we could have taken a falcon again,” Orn Khai says, stretching his wings as he lands on the ashen rock underfoot, “These flimsy boats are like to get blown away in the wind.”

Estinien hops off said boat and onto the island, scowling already. Making the trip out to a nearby volcanic island to investigate baseless rumors was one inconvenience already - he did not require additional commentary from a pesky dragonet to accent his every move. The elezen tethers their unimpressive vessel to a nearby rock, hoping it wouldn't be carried away on the waves in their absence.

He straps his lance to his back with an onze more force than necessary, if only to remind the whelp that he is still a seasoned hunter of dragons and not a Fury-forsaken nursemaid. “Need I remind you that our priority is to travel  _ efficiently, _ not  _ luxuriously?” _

The other is, predictably, unfazed. “A falcon would travel more efficiently because it can fly. Mayhap you should sell that ring of yours?” Orn Khai tilts his head curiously like a chocobo chick, eyeing the trinket of gold hanging from a modest chain around Estinien’s neck. The latter quickly tucks the keepsake into the material of his inner shirt and away from unwanted gazes looking to snap it up.

“I am  _ not _ pawning off my ring.” The dragoon growls immediately, sweeping his salt-caked bangs out of his vision. “Be grateful  _ my  _ coin got us this far.”

Not that it would fetch that much in the first place, being a simple gilded band. But it was his last reminder of Ishgard proper, and the only one he cared to hold close. Each time he glanced upon it, it brought to mind eyes of bright azure, dark locks of soft hair, long fingers threading through his own silvery tresses and clasping his numb hands in the cold.

Aymeric always had a prenatural sense for his elusive habits. It was likely pure intuition he knew to find him outside of de Borel manor the night before his decided departure from the Holy See. The dragoon had been waffling for a precious moment beneath the silent, jeweled sky, debating on slipping away silently into the dark without affording the other the courtesy of a goodbye.

Estinien committed to memory how he looked under the dim lanterns in the streets of the Pillars, his cheeks rosy from the cold and long lashes nearly obscuring his gaze. Aymeric expressed a disdain for the hue, once - the color was a gift from Thordan, the same keen clarity inherited from his late father.

Yet they didn't hold the same piercing chill of the Archbishop. They were filled with Aymeric’s own warmth as he slipped the band onto Estinien’s finger with a knowing smile.

_ “Come back when you can.”  _ He lifted Estinien’s hand and delicately pressed his lips to the back of it. In that moment, the dragoon privately admitted to understanding how he could come to charm so many tittering noblewomen at those frivolous balls.  _ “However long it takes, I will wait for you.”  _

One would be a fool to think he did not consider whisking Aymeric away right then and there. He was constantly plagued with flights of fancy since that night - fantasies of tugging the other beneath the towering canopies of Dravania and becoming lost in the forests together, overlooking the view from the Churning Mists and whiling away the bells in quiet company and ancient memories… 

Instead, he is in the Far East, hair and skin nigh saturated with ash and ocean air, and responsible for a troublesome dragonet to boot. He wordlessly curses when another strong breeze fills his mouth with the taste of salt. 

Orn Khai shakes him from his reverie with an insistent tug on his sleeve, intent on exploring Sakazuki for any sign of their mythical quarry.

“How did the Warrior of Light tolerate you,” he mutters, following the other.

“I would say they were  _ delighted _ to be in my presence, young dragoon.” The dragonet replies pointedly. “Perhaps you should learn from their example.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” He snorts in response. The image of the warrior’s patented deadpan stare comes to mind. They were probably too polite to say anything at the risk of putting a damper on the whelp’s boundless excitement.

Estinien spares a glance at the towering volcano sitting at the center of the island. The sky is blessedly fair and tantalizingly open, yet plumes of smoke periodically wind their way through the air. One of the Kojin in Kugane mentioned a sacred temple with divine animals traipsing about, but the elezen can only see dark rock and hungry monsters teeming for yalms on end. If there were any benevolent creatures lurking in the vicinity, he cannot imagine why they would choose  _ here, _ of all places.

Though Kojin were not wont to be as shrewd as Namazu, Estinien cannot help but think their singular lead was no more than a faerie tale.

“Reminds me of Morn,” Orn Khai says after an experimental sniff. For Estinien, the scent of smoke first calls to mind Ishgard burning by dragon spit. But the scene melts away to the pocket of brimstone and molten rock hidden behind Anyx Trine with the soft, rotting flesh of his children, voiceless as they rested at the foot of Sohm Al.

Luckily, smoky air and crumbling stone do not bother either of them. Orn Khai dutifully flutters around the uneven formations while Estinien leaps up another rocky ledge for a better vantage point, marking this as a pointless endeavor until he spots-  _ is that a raccoon, blissfully napping by a pit of lava? _

He moves without thinking, effortlessly jumping from crag to crag, until he all but savagely pounces upon the creature as if a beast from the hunt. The sudden impact startles the defenseless thing and it lets out a squeak, curling into itself when Estinien looms over it and unceremoniously picks it up by the scruff, wondering if the shock had accidentally stopped its heart.

“What's that? Food?” He can hear the drool dripping from Orn Khai’s voice when the dragonet flies over.

“Perhaps.” His stomach growls, as if to emphasize what a practical suggestion it is. Vermin didn't typically have much meat to offer, but this one seems rather well-fed. A strange sight, given the dangerous terrain.

“You mortals are so rude nowadays!” Comes the tiny voice from the trembling creature. “You're lucky  _ I’m _ not the one eating  _ you!” _

Perhaps another would be surprised by the outburst, but Estinien has seen his fair share of Creatures That Should Not Talk, and remains unaffected. This must be one of those blessed animals the Kojin mentioned, he belatedly realizes over his thoughts of smoked raccoon meat. His grip on the thing’s scruff doesn't loosen as he leans in to inspect his next meal with narrowing eyes.

“Raccoon-dog,” He starts, jostling the animal slightly from where it dangles in the air.

“I have a name, you know. It's Furi!” It puffs, paws flailing uselessly in the air.

“Fine,  _ Furi,” _ Estinien sighs before continuing, “Are you familiar with the legends of an azure dragon?”

That causes the struggling to stop, recognition passing through its black, beady eyes. “Oh! You seek an audience with Lord Seiryu?”

A regrettable answer, for Estinien momentarily laments the loss of a fresh helping of jerky. He reluctantly sets the creature down onto the ground, settling for eyeing it with a generous helping of suspicion. In the scant time they've known each other, Furi, at least, doesn't seem to be as purposely obtuse as a moogle. “Aye. Rumors of his misconduct have been spread across the land. We want to know if he truly devours people - does he?”

“Well, he  _ can _ be kind of scary at times,” The raccoon brings one paw to its chin in thought. “And he's not one to fraternize with the younger auspices like Genbu or Byakko, but I don't know if he's been eating men.”

“See? I told you we were right to investigate!” Orn Khai butts in, sounding far too self-satisfied for someone who convinced him to use the last of his carefully rationed coin to seek passage across the Ruby Sea.

“Still, I don't know if I would be able to grant you an audience with him, considering he  _ is _ one of the Four Lords. Only auspices are permitted here, and  _ you _ look like a fresh hatchling.”

“I’ll have you know I am almost three centuries old!” The dragonet huffs, wings flapping in agitation. “ _ Much _ older than this mewling whelp I have been tasked with keeping an eye on.”

“Is that so? Awful impressive for a lizard.” Furi replies without a hint of malice.

“I am a  _ dragon _ .” As if to demonstrate, a small plume of blue flame escapes the other’s mouth. “And I have been bringing good fortune to the people of Kugane!” Estinien rolls his eyes at that, wondering if they would vacate his skull in the process.

“A dragon, you say…?” The dragoon watches in disbelief as Furi seemingly contemplates this new detail. He knew that reverence of dragons was prevalent among the merchants of Kugane, but never did he think the superstition would extend to the animals as well. “Hmm… I suppose I can make an exception for you, then.”

The raccoon paws at the small lead resting atop its head, flattening it on the ground in preparation for-  _ poof!  _ With a puff of smoke, it transforms into a detailed map of the Ruby Sea, if a bit crinkled. 

“Lord Seiryu returned to his island after a lengthy stay at the temple - here, to the east.” The creature plants a dainty paw on one small area of the map. “Tell him Furi sent you, and he should know you mean no harm.”

“Fury?” Orn Khai echoes imperfectly. “Oh, like the goddess!” He nods, seemingly pleased with himself.

“No, no -  _ Furi.” _ The raccoon-dog vigorously shakes its head.

_ “Furry?”  _

“No, see?” In another puff of smoke, the fluffy tail of the creature turns into an ink-soaked brush. Characters in Hingan are quickly scrawled on the leaf in an attempt to further explain.  _ “Fu. Ri.” _

Orn Khai gives the leaf a second of dedicated scrutiny before declaring his judgement. “I cannot read!” He chirps happily. 

“ _ Furi, _ got it.” Estinien cuts in before he has to listen to any more of this ridiculous exchange.

“Here, you can have this.” Furi rolls up the map, offering it to Estinien who plucks it from betwixt fuzzy paws. “I admit it was a pretty nice leaf, but I can always find another one. I would rather you not get lost delivering your missive to Lord Seiryu. Best of luck to both of you!”

“Don't worry, I promise to keep this young mortal out of trouble!” Orn Khai calls out as he turns to leave.

Estinien nearly sputters at that, teeth grinding as he sets a brisk pace back towards the boat.

-

Traveling with Orn Khai is  _ distracting _ , to say the least. 

Being in the company of a child of Faunehm and Vedrfolnir makes Nidhogg stir in the shallows, the wyrm implacable like a constant undercurrent. Orn Khai is evidence of a union that transcended the power of song, a faint mixture of guilt and fondness alternating and weaving together in turn. 

He remembers Faunehm as a proud daughter with obsidian scales like the night, always full of love and wit even as the eons passed. The brightness of her headstrong soul was only matched by Vedrfolnir’s devotion to his beloved, the two perfectly entwined with scales of light and dark. The dragonet’s name reminds him of how quickly those halcyon days shattered, and how his daughter was driven to madness for the sake of her consort and children.

Estinien, however, refuses to consider the dragonling more than another winged pest. Nidhogg growls in a low echo to  _ protect the child,  _ though Estinien supposes the concern is not entirely baseless.

On a secluded island to the east, covered in luscious greenery, Estinien is unable to shed the sensation of being  _ watched. _ White feathers constantly flit through the trees while snakes slither underfoot, their scales gleaming in the sparse snatches of the sun that make it through the dense canopy. Estinien cannot carelessly stomp through the undergrowth lest he meet a pair of unhappy fangs, and the trees leave little room for vigorous maneuvers. His ears twitch periodically in interest, trying to pick up the slightest indication of a dragon’s presence.

Orn Khai is similarly cautious, thankfully. He clings to Estinien’s shoulders, not keen on flying and bumping into branches along the way. He makes hushed chatter as they hike across the island, searching for a dragon’s abode. So far, the quarters seem less than accommodating for any creature of man-eating stature, and Estinien wonders if the azure dragon truly resides here.

His misgivings are promptly dashed, however, when the duo spots across a clearing through the brush. They keep to the cover of leaves and bushes, hesitantly peeking through a small window to scan the area.

The first thing Estinien notices is how  _ open _ it is. Unlike the rest of the island, this portion is unguarded by the stalwart trees, winding branches forming a wreath about the vicinity. The ornate architecture framing the area is adorned with symbols of geomancy and carvings in the shape of serpents. A dueling ground, perhaps? Or some sort of ceremonial platform?

But what catches Estinien’s attention the most is the calm chimera that rests at the center of the wood, eyes closed as if in sleep. The dragoon is momentarily entranced by the glimmering scales rippling across the creature’s body with each languid flick of its tail, the color the same as a fathomless ocean in dancing rays of sunlight. 

Estinien’s breath hitches at the sight. The azure dragon, Seiryu.

_ Dragons are not usually so fair, _ he thinks dryly, remembering why he journeyed to this uninhabited corner of the Ruby Sea. This one appears to be closer to an Allagan amalgamation of elezen and dragon, like the forgotten specimens he came across at Azys Lla. 

_ This wyrm is possessed of a power different than my kin, _ Nidhogg rumbles lowly. And he is right - the air around the dragon is deathly still yet impossibly tempestuous underneath, like a serpent coiled and poised to sink his fangs into him at a moment's notice. Every ilm of Estinien’s skin is on guard, despite the creature being yalms away.

Dragons tended to fight without pretense, commanding overwhelming power and letting instinct guide their manipulation of the elements. But this is no senseless violence borne of simple rage - it appears closer to the intricate techniques of geomancy, the way Seiryu is lost in meditation. More dangerous, then, for he had little knowledge of eastern magicks in combat. 

A jolt travels up his spine when the dragon’s gaze fixes directly on him. He clenches his jaw. Clearly they were expected.

“Stay hidden, little one.” Estinien whispers to Orn Khai. “Something isn't right.”

For once, the dragonet doesn't succumb to his incessantly curious nature and simply nods as he ducks lower into the bushes. Estinien takes a moment to brace himself before leaping from his perch through the humid island air. 

He lands on one mossy branch, then another, before finally reaching the dragon’s domain. The chimera is much larger in person, he faintly notes as he cranes his neck upwards. Estinien squints, slightly blinded by the uncomfortable angle.

“Are you the dragon known as Seiryu?” Estinien asks. He instantly feels the immense pressure exerted by the beast when Seiryu’s eyes are Coerthan ice, sharp and unforgiving even from the distance between them. Still, Estinien does not let himself be daunted - he’s stared into the maw of worse beasts.

“Indeed.” The dragon answers patiently, brushing away one lock of shimmering hair to look down upon the elezen. The twin serpents bound to his hide spit at their intruder despite their master’s composed demeanor. “For what reason would a mortal have to enter my domain?”

“I would know what sins you've committed.” Estinien says simply. He unsheathes the lance on his back and points the end at Seiryu in warning, feeling his temples pulse with Nidhogg’s song. “And if need be, take your head.”

“You would presume to judge me? How facetious. _ ”  _ The serpent hisses, conjuring his own arm from the aether. 

The golden blade glints dangerously in the sun, steeped in the dragon’s powerful magicks. It seemed there would be no peaceable negotiations, then. Estinien bristles, shifting his previously bold stance to one more suited towards flight. He mentally recounts his avenues of escape as he glowers at the wyrm.

Seiryu only brandishes his arm in response. “I shall make your death swift, impudent fool.”

Seiryu strikes with a fury in the next breath. The edge of his sword nearly skewers Estinien as he jumps back, and the dragoon is certain he wouldn't be standing if he were but a moment slower. 

It seemed the fabled azure dragon was merely a flesh-hungry fiend after all, Estinien thinks as he regains his balance after landing on the opposite side of the arena. Seiryu is unlike any dragon he has known, but his purpose remains the same: to reach the hearts of wyrms afflicted by madness, be it through words or his piercing lance.

Estinien is barely given a moment to breathe after the assault - he’s forced to leap away again from one bound serpent when it lunges at him. Despite the cumbersome appearance of his chimeric form, Seiryu is deceptively fast, gliding through the air as if a fish in water. 

He follows with blade in talon, clashing with the shaft of Estinien’s lance when the elezen hurriedly raises the weapon to defend himself. Estinien can only parry the flurry of practiced blows as he’s overwhelmed, eastern magicks meeting the vestiges of Nidhogg’s will with sparks flying from every point of contact. The force behind each impact makes the elezen grit his teeth. The other’s unyielding tempest reverberates down the length of his lance and shakes Estinien to his core.

Nidhogg snarls at the pitiful display. Rumbling tones echo in his skull and tell him to  _ fight _ . Estinien is granted ebony wings for a fraction of a second, soaring far above only to be effortlessly pursued when Seiryu gives chase.

The dragoon lands once more, this time a further distance away. Decades of training and survival surface in his mind as he sizes up his fast-approaching foe. Estinien wills his deafening heartbeat to still so he can  _ think _ . 

_ Remember a dragon's weak points,  _ Alberic’s voice is clear among his frantic thoughts,  _ A single blow to sever the vertebrae, a cut to rip open the underbelly, a well-aimed thrust to gouge out an eye- _

Estinien waits until Seiryu strikes once more. When the dragon swings his blade, he pours all his might into jumping above the wyrm - then uses gravity to drive his lance into his scaled hide. The end sinks into the dragon’s shimmering flank, an ilm away from his maned spine. Estinien viciously twists his lance to further maul the beast, lifeblood and broken scales clinging to his arm. Flecks of red stain the pristine robes of the dragon, blossoming on white snow like flowers from the Vault’s garden.

A sharp hiss of pain escapes Seiryu before he rears and bucks the elezen off with a harsh whip of his tufted tail. Estinien curses, having missed his mark. The other is slender and near-formless like water itself, twisting elegantly with each movement unlike the lumbering beasts he was used to slaying. His body is flung onto the ground with a rather concerning  _ thud _ , the force of his landing likely leaving bruised ribs in its wake.

But that had to be enough, didn't it? The wyrm would surely bleed out from the injury the longer this dance dragged on. If he could just dodge the other’s attacks for a little longer… 

...Of course, he has no such luck. When the dragoon lifts his head, he watches in muted horror as the wound mends itself with magicks. The place his lance tore apart is now seamless, as if the only thing he had done was further incense the auspice.  _ Shite. _

Seiryu proudly returns to the fray without complaint, prompting Estinien to scramble to his feet. He is unsure if he'd be able to endure another onslaught of the wyrm’s combination of magicks and honed techniques. Instead, he glances about, taking stock of any possible route of escape. A  _ tactical retreat, _ as it were. Loathe as he is to let a dangerous wyrm out of his grasp, he cannot very well accomplish the task while  _ dead. _

Twin serpents snap at his legs without warning, and Estinien clumsily ducks out of the way in reflex. One pair of pearlescent fangs manages to sink deep into his calf, making the dragoon drop to one knee with a half-bitten cry. Warm blood gushes from the wound when the snake pulls away and pain immediately shoots up his leg. He sorely regrets shedding Iceheart for a commoner’s garb - there is no dragonscale to soften the blow, nor spines to maim the other in retaliation. 

Still, he maintains his distance as best he can. A bead of sweat slides down his temple with each agonizing movement. He won't die here, he  _ won't- he cannot- _

Nidhogg roars, talons digging into his fragile mind.  _ You would succumb to this? Stand, mortal. Show me thine will is not as weak as the one you surrendered to me before.  _ The sound is an all-consuming choir like the bells atop Saint Reymanaud’s, ringing loudly to drown out the pain. The residual scales embedded in Estinien’s skin burn like embers from the wyrm’s kindling rage. His enemy, his partner - the fallen villain of the Dragonsong War lends Estinien what meager strength he has left, hot fire surging through his veins to cleanse his doubt.

Estinien inhales a sharp gasp when the wyrm's gift pervades his senses. Nidhogg is the eclipse of a black sun, sharpening his waning senses. He feels the phantom of gnarled horns framing his body, dark wings from his back spanning the expanse of the sky.  _ He is Nidhogg, of unrivaled lighting and fire and unwavering strength. Heed this song, for he will not falter again in his duty to protect. _

Yet even Nidhogg’s intervention could not prepare him for the last of Seiryu’s repertoire. Estinien is suddenly assailed by a veritable blizzard of papery spirits obscuring his view - he quickly jumps away to avoid being caught in what trickery they intended to seal him with, but this proves to be his undoing.

He finds Seiryu dancing among them, sleeves billowing gracefully in the wind when he flees right into the dragon’s clutches. His lance is knocked aside with one bone-shattering swing and a talon closes upon him, trapping him on the ground when it swats him from the air. Seiryu presses on Estinien with his full weight, preventing him from escaping and furthering the ache in his ribs. 

Estinien breathes a broken wheeze with chest heaving as he spits out a lock of white hair that had gotten into his mouth. Nidhogg is silent - probably from secondhand embarrassment, Estinien thinks.

“Your first mistake was treading upon my domain.” The dragon reprimands him with the utmost contempt, indifferent to Estinien’s struggling breaths. “You  _ reek _ of aramitama. As one of the Four Lords, it is my duty to excise this corruption before it takes root; I will not suffer another breath drawn from you, wretch.”

“Those should be my words,” The dragoon retorts with a strained growl from where he remains pinned. “I’d come to relieve you of your mad hunger for flesh.”

Seiryu’s gaze narrows, a flicker of sorrow passing through his expression. “The children of man cling fast to their stories.” He murmurs somberly, more to himself than to Estinien. His composure turns cold again, his blade poised to behead the elezen. “I have done  _ nothing _ of the sort. Die knowing your attempt to cast judgement was in vain.”

Seiryu’s raised blade extinguishes the sun for an eternal moment, framed by the gleaming ornament in his hair before he delivers retribution with a single, precise motion-

_ “Waaaaiiit!!!” _

A panicked wail fills the vicinity as Orn Khai darts out from his place between the bushes with more speed than Estinien thought possible, the dragonet naught more than a blur of white hurtling through the air. He stops before the azure dragon’s sword, arms wide as if to shield his charge from the final blow.

“Begone, child!” Seiryu jerkily withdraws his blade with a start. “My quarrel is not with you.”

“I said,  _ wait!  _ We were sent by Furi!” Orn Khai’s wings flap frantically as he squeaks out an explanation. “And Estinien may reek, but he's my friend! He does not kill people!”

That gives the serpent pause, enough that the crushing weight eases up. Estinien, in a fit of pique, decides to snatch up the lance that's fallen slightly out of his grasp and - plunges it into the talon pressing him against the wood. 

There's a satisfying spray of red across the ground, causing the dragon to thrash and recoil. A smug smirk crosses Estinien’s face -  _ serves the self-righteous bastard right _ \- 

-until the concentrated magicks gathered around Seiryu’s medium fall upon him all at once, turning his world to black.

-

Sleep is always foreign to Estinien. Even before becoming Nidhogg’s vessel, being in contact with the wyrm’s eye made any attempt at rest a fitful affair. The echoes of war were ever-present in the oblivion of unconsciousness, and every dragoon who beheld the eye was forced to maintain an eternal vigilance lest they be swallowed by the torrent. After spending years in this tenuous state of unrest - never at  _ peace _ \- having Nidhogg  _ not _ haunting him would be the stranger of outcomes.

Nidhogg still taints his sleep, but the dreams are quieter, softer than the deluge of grief, fury, and centuries of untempered hate. His song has no place here, when Ratataskor’s wings shelter his weary head and her melody soothes his soul. She gives a playful chirp when she nuzzles him in his nest.  _ Ehsk in an, _ the gentle brush of her maw against his says. He lazily flicks his tail in response, fondly rumbling in response.

Then she is nudging him awake, her dark scales  melting into the still of night until she is nothing, his heart heavy with her silent ghost. In this moment, he isn't curled into himself in the Aery, lulled to sleep by Ratataskor’s voice, the small bodies of his dragonets resting against his side for warmth-

Estinien slowly wakes to the sound of the ocean, his ears twitching in annoyance. Nidhogg grumbles in his temples, low in a buzzing dirge as he sits up from his surprisingly soft bed of grass. Orn Khai is pressed snug against him, taking refuge in the folds of his coat as he sleeps. The rise and fall of his form with each breath is far too peaceful for the occasion.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the shade of the trees above. The last thing he remembers is fighting the azure dragon of legend, and pathetically receiving a helping of magicks to the crown. Yet there aren't any injuries when he gives himself a cursory inspection, and what he can find has been neatly sealed together. 

_ Conjury _ . But from who…?

“I see you are awake.” The unflinching gaze of a large serpent finds him, its scales verdant and accented by regal gold. The snake is poised upright, carrying with it a distinct air of dignity. Estinien faintly recognizes the voice as the same one from before.

“Seiryu,” He notes with some level of astonishment. He encountered any number of talking creatures on his travels, but he cannot recall one that could change forms so dramatically. 

“Your little one has kept me apprised of your circumstances.” The dragon-now-snake says coolly, sparing a glance towards Orn Khai. “He tells me that you are no ordinary adventurer. That much is evident from the way you fight.”

Estinien frowns, brow furrowing.  _ “He is not my child.”  _ And Halone help anyone who would insinuate otherwise. He draws his hand away where it had been hovering over the dragonet protectively.

“Regardless, your companion has vouched for your integrity. And yet, what concerns me is the blight upon your soul.” Seiryu continues unaffected, watching Estinien closely. The elezen feels as though he is being wrapped by the other in a vise of steel. “While you are young, you possess an aramitama most potent. One of terrifying depth, swirling with eons of lightless hatred.”

Estinien raises a brow. He had thought Seiryu attacked him for some lesser reason, like intruding upon his home. To know the other had seen  _ Nidhogg _ as a threat makes him wonder just how much of him was yet comprised of his foe. 

A blight, eh? He would almost be inclined to agree, were he younger. The dragoon was always curious as to how his aether seemed to another, a jumbled mess from being entwined with the dread wyrm and delivering his final chorus. In time he had made his peace with it; it comes as little surprise that the serpent would perceive what remained of him.

“Aye. ‘Tis not entirely mine, but it is by my folly I have become like this.” He pauses, and places a hand over his chest to better feel the squirming soul inside his ribs and between his lungs. “You felt it, didn't you? The grief and fury of my greatest foe have become my own, and I will bear it as penance for my naivety.”

“And if this penance consumes you, mortal? Will you accept judgement?” Seiryu bares his fangs, a reminder that he is still deadly in this form. It wouldn't take much for the serpent to lunge from this distance and pierce his flesh once more.

Even so, Estinien’s lips twitch into a smile, edging somewhere between bitter and cocky. “It already has, once before. But I don't intend to make the same mistake again. ‘Twas by my allies’ hands I was able to escape the wyrm’s hold, and I do not intend to squander their efforts.”

The words seem to placate the serpent after a long moment of contemplation, his tongue flicking before him. “How like a mortal to be so overly confident.” He sighs with a shake of his head. “Then I will hold you to that. Should you pose a danger to this realm, know that I will not grant you mercy again.”

“Duly noted.” Estinien replies, deadpan. Wasn't  _ he _ supposed to be the one slaying a man-eating wyrm? “Now that you know the truth about me, I would have the truth of you.”

“Very well; I suppose I should afford you that much.” The serpent settles into a partially coiled position to better regale the dragoon with his tale. “The stories you have heard are not entirely without root - some men revile me as a bloodthirsty fiend for dispatching assassins sent my way, while others simply think me to be a harbinger of disaster.”

A note of melancholy enters Seiryu’s voice, reminiscent of the same pained look that passed across his expression during their battle. “Yet the accusations of your madness are false?” Estinien ventures.

Seiryu nods. “I was too young and powerless to combat these conjectures, despite not being the source of their woes. I could only watch as those who once worshiped me turned to fear and hatred. And I even began to think I was  _ meant _ to be a demon.” 

Estinien feels a vague sense of nostalgia at the snake’s account - he is reminded of how the stories of his youth painted dragons and how the truth of the Dragonsong War remained veiled for centuries. Through Nidhogg’s sorrow he knew only too well how men could weave tales for their own gain, and how easily the events of history became lost. He feels a flicker of kinship with Seiryu, watching him recount the truth of his past. Enough to soften his initial irritation of being trounced, anyways.

The look in Seiryu’s sharp gaze turns pensive. “Twice have I almost embraced such a mantle. It was only recently a remarkable warrior from the west came to my domain. They laid me low and quelled the aramitama festering in my soul, reminding me of my oath to protect those I hold dear.”

_ A familiar story. _ “A remarkable warrior? Mayhap we’ve come across the same blessed adventurer. I’ve known them to be one to leave many admirers in the wake of their miraculous feats.” And Estinien can think of no other who would willingly cross steel with such a ferocious dragon and emerge victorious.

“Then they are the ally that saved you as well?” The serpent brightens slightly at that. “My duties keep me here to guard the realm, but you have the spirit of a wanderer. Should you chance upon them, send them my regards.”

Estinien cannot deny the prospect of seeing them again makes him livelier as well. He was eager to fight alongside them again since their last meeting on the Azim Steppe, wondering how they fared since he came across rumors of Scions succumbing to the clutches sickness without warning. Coupled with the efforts against Garlemald, Estinien heard little of their ally’s recent escapades, and could only hope they had not mysteriously taken ill as well.

But there was no point in dwelling on bleak possibilities now. There are more pressing concerns to address at the end of this excursion.

“...Well, this meeting has certainly been enlightening.” Estinien hops to his feet and picks a stubborn blade of grass out of his hair. He shoots a dirty look at Orn Khai, who is oblivious to the dragoon’s ire as he wakes. “What the people have thought to be an azure dragon is simply a  _ serpent. _ And you're not even the right hue.”

Seiryu rears to his full height, then spits, as if offended. “That is no fault of mine. What wandering minstrels misconstrue in their ridiculous ballads is  _ not _ my own doing.”

“You're a god, are you not?” Estinien asks, immune to the other’s annoyance. “Can't you conjure up some coin for us? Or a better boat?”

“I hold no such sway over fortune and fate.” Seiryu replies primly as Estinien’s ears betray his exasperation. “Come now, don't look so disappointed. I never claimed to be one of the kami - what divinity I have attained is due to millennia of training alone.”

“Fine, then. Do you have anything to eat?”

“Unfortunately, no one has left offerings here in centuries.” Seiryu admits as sheepishly as a snake can seem. “But you are free to hunt for fish off the shore or take fruit from the trees.”

_ I did not master the dragoon’s jump to strike fear into the hearts of high-hanging fruit. _ He recalls saying as much to the Warrior of Light during their trip to Dravania. His stomach growls, but he won't allow Orn Khai the pleasure of watching him get stuck in a tree.

So Estinien heaves a great sigh, takes to stripping off his coat, and makes his way to the sand, reluctantly sinking his lance into the shallows without prelude.

-

“I can scarcely believe we wasted all this time on a Fury-damned  _ snake.” _ Estinien mutters, tearing into another chunk of rubbery squid. The Shiokaze Holstery is outright bustling - too damned loud and disruptive for Estinien’s liking - but he has little choice other than to endure the constant noise and movement. He focuses on his mouthful of surume to temper his fraying nerves.

“At least we know he will not be eating anyone!” Orn Khai chirps proudly, the ambient light of the dim lanterns bouncing off his ivory scales. “And he was nice enough to bear us upon his back and return us to Sakazuki.”

_ “We are out of coin.” _ Estinien replies curtly. That was why they were put on display like court jesters for customers to ogle at.

Estinien resists the urge to leave with a single jump. He's had enough of tempting fate for now; it would be best to wait until they accrued enough funds for a trip back to Coerthas, where he could safely deliver the dragonet back to his brood and rid himself being Orn Khai’s wet nurse.

The dragoon lets the salty taste of squid soothe his ailing soul. Rest, then search for the cheapest vessel to Eorzea come morning. Two simple tasks to relieve him of his permanent headache. 

Of course, the Fury was never fond of indolence, and has other plans for him. He can only hope Her next trial isn't as pointlessly taxing.

(Estinien is proven wrong, of course. He always is. He thinks Nidhogg might be laughing this time, too.)


End file.
